


In the Houses of Healing

by Artabria



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bit of angst at first, F/M, bit of humor at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-09 20:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20123596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artabria/pseuds/Artabria
Summary: In which a deal is struck and swords puns are made.





	In the Houses of Healing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Plaid_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/gifts).

> I... may write something more in this 'verse, because these two interacting with each other is too much fun.
> 
> Anyway, this is for The_Plaid_Slytherin, who wanted Éowyn and Imrahil's relationship to be developed.

If there was one thing Imrahil hadn't expected out of this cursed war, it was to find the White Lady of Rohan in a makeshift litter made from the spears and capes of the _rohirrim. _Next to her, in a similar hurriedly constructed litter, laid King Théoden. Both figures were pale, their faces dirty with the blood of their enemies and dust, but while the king was clearly dead, the lady was another matter.

The armour hid much, but there was still a slight movement in her chest. Hopefully, he approached the woman once the loyal soldiers surrounding her allowed it. Cleaning his armour as best as he could with his cape, he rested his arm just beneath her nose.

He didn't waste time when a slight fog covered the metal, and quickly ordered her to be taken to the Houses of Healing. Close to death, perhaps, but the White Lady still remained among the living.

* * *

Imrahil followed Éomer towards the Houses of Healing. The man had been half broken after the battle, but the news that his sister was still alive had given Éomer hope that he wasn't the last of his House.

They found Gandalf with a cloaked man standing next to him, that quickly revealed himself to be Lord Aragorn. Eowyn, plus Faramir and Merry, were suffering from the Black Breath, and Gandalf had asked the returned king for help in their healing.

And heal them he did, but Imrahil's heart was still perturbed by the White Lady's awakening. There was an odd look in her eyes, a lack of hope and a lack of will to live that, according to his companions, wasn't from a pain caused by the war.

Éomer had said that his sister's unrequited love for Lord Aragorn was the cause of the pain that was eating her life away. Gandalf's answer was, in Imrahil's opinion, closer to the truth. It wasn't the first time he saw someone like Eowyn, a noble lady sackled by the expactations brought by that the simple fact of being a woman.

“Have you come, too, my lord, to scream at me for being foolish and choose to follow my king into battle?” asked Eowyn from her bed.

Moments before, Éomer had left the room. There had been yelling, and the new king of Rohan had left closing the door in anger. That same emotion had been on his face, but it had quickly transformed into shame at having yelled at his sister. The younger man had simply nodded at the Prince of Dol Amroth and left to calm himself.

Gandalf had commented that the siblings had very similar personalities, and it looked like the wizard hadn't been wrong.

“No, my lady,” he answered. “Just curious about how you were faring.”

“I'm alive,” she said. “I was supposed to die in battle, next to my king. I haven't, and now my arm is broken and I won't be allowed to seek my glory.”

“Is that what you wish? Glory?”

The woman looked at him with eyes that were trying to hid a great pain. They were grey, like his, but hers were like a storm at the sea and seemed to be seeking something in his own. He remembered, suddenly, that her grandfather had married Morwen Steelsheen and that it wasn't just through his veins that ran elvish blood.

“And why not? Isn't it what men seek when they choose to follow their king to battle while their women remain behind without any chance to make that same choice?” she asked. “Stay behind, they say, and if the men fail, pray that your death is quick and painless.”

“So you would rather die in battle?”

“I would rather choose my own fate,” Eowyn rested against the pillow behind her. “Gandalf says that I shouldn't give up on hope. Now, tell me Prince Imrahil, do we have hope?”

“You have heard about our plans.”

“My brother and I have always yelled among ourselves, and when someone yells, things are always said without meaning to,” she said. “You plan on marching to the Black Gates on what's little more than a suicide mission.”

“We do, althought we hope that it won't be a suicide mission, as you call it.”

“That's your hope, but not mine.”

Imrahil looked down, thinking about what to do or say next. With a nod to himself, he looked up again at Eowyn.

“Then, let's make a deal, my lady.”

“Which one?”

“In two days, most of what remains of our armies will leave for the Black Gate, and in eight days we'll arrive at our destination.”

“I know that, my lord.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Now, here's my deal. Your sword was destroyed in battle, so I'll give you a new sword. If we fail, all will be lost, and no one will dare deny the woman who killed the Witch King her dying wish.”

“And if your missions is a sucess?”

“Then, my lady, I ask that you accompany me to Dol Amroth. Some of your ancestors were from there, and I have been told that the air from the sea helps with recovery.”

“I'll take that bet if it pleases you, my lord,” there was still a darkness in her eyes, but it seemed to have receded a bit. “But shouldn't you be asking my brother if I'm allowed to go?”

“My lady, forgive me, but didn't you just tell me that you are the only person who decides her fate?” then he stopped talking for a moment and scratched his chin. “Although, perhaps I should speak with him. My face is not what as beautiful as it was in my youth, but I have been told that my beauty still hasn't left me, and I would hate to see it marred by a well aimed fist.”

At this, Eowyn finally laughed.

“I would hate to see it marred, too, my lord,” she said. “But, fear not, if you return vitorious, I shall speak with my brother myself. I'm curious about your land.”

“Of course, my lady,” he answered with a smile. He rose from his seat next to her bed and bowed as he left. As he was closing the room, he heard her behind him.

“But I still expect a sword, my lord, and it better not be rusty or a puny knife!”


End file.
